Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish Page 4

  Not that he wouldn’t love to give Eunice, one of his favorite customers, a birthday to remember. And in the process, secure a little more business for Rustica, and spread the restaurant’s name with the guests at the party, many of whom were undoubtedly coming in from out of town. Even though the restaurant had had a successful first year, it never hurt to keep growing the business. A party like Eunice’s, filled with people who hadn’t yet tried Rustica, could do that.

  It wasn’t the job itself, or the money he’d make, it was the price he’d have to pay—working side by side with Jenna for several days. Remembering how things used to be, how he’d once hoped for a future with her, and how badly things had soured. Surely she could find a caterer in Indiana she didn’t share a history with. He’d go back to concentrating on his restaurant, and she’d eventually go back to New York—and he’d forget all about her again.

  The plan sounded good in theory. But as his front door opened and Jenna walked into his restaurant for the second time in two days, he realized a plan was no good unless it was executed by both parties. Clearly, Jenna was reading from a different plan book than him.

  She strode up to him, fire in her eyes, a set to her jaw that he knew as well as he knew his own name. He’d seen that same look back in high school when she’d had control of the ball on the soccer field, and blown past four opponents like she was brushing mosquitoes off her shoulder. The same look she used to get on her face when she’d been on the debate team and up against a particularly daunting opponent. The same look that had come over her face when she’d applied for a job at a banquet hall in a nearby town and the owner had told her she didn’t have what it took to work in event planning. Stockton knew that look meant one thing—

  She wasn’t leaving here until she had what she wanted.

  “I know what you said yesterday, but I’d like you to reconsider.” She held up a hand to cut off his protests. “If you provide the food for this party, it would be great for your business.”

  “You said that yesterday. And I told you then that my business is doing just fine, thank you.”

  “Every business could stand to grow and expand its customer base.”

  He leaned back against the smooth oak surface of Rustica’s bar and crossed his arms over his chest. He forced his gaze to her face, away from the enticing curves beneath her black V-neck blouse and dark skirt. Everything she was wearing was more suitable for a boardroom than a few days in Riverbend, where casual attire ruled the day, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by the understated sexiness in her clothing choices. She had on high-heeled black pumps that seemed to beg a man to keep his attention on her legs. Beg every man but him. “Even your business?”

  “Well, of course.” A flush filled her cheeks, then she shook her head and seemed to will the crimson from her face.

  Stockton leaned forward, waiting until her gaze met his. In those deep green depths, he saw something he had missed the day before.

  A lie.

  “Why are you really doing this party?”

  “Because Betsy wants her sister to have a happy birthday.”

  “You’ve never much cared for Betsy. Or she for you, if I remember my Halloweens correctly. And from the scuttle-butt I hear around town, she’s not too keen on the idea of you running this shindig.”

  Jenna looked away. “The people in this town have always liked to talk.”

  Regret rocketed through him. His mouth had gotten away from his brain, and he needed to reel it back in. Jenna Pearson, of all people, wouldn’t want to hear what the busybodies of this town had to say. Still, for her to battle such odds, there had to be something more than a party behind her return to Riverbend. “Tell me the real reason you’re here.”

  That lower jaw set again, and a muscle ticked in her cheeks. She was fuming, but she wasn’t going to show it to him. “Because I haven’t seen my aunt in forever, and this seemed like a great opportunity to come back and visit with her.”

  “Half the truth,” Stockton said, “is not the same as the full truth.”

  “I do have a job catering Eunice’s birthday party. I did think it would be nice to see my aunt again. It’s a win-win. Nothing more.”

  He could see the lie in her eyes. Hear it in the strain in her voice. But why? And about what? He thought of pressing her on it, then decided to drop the subject. “Did you call any of the other caterers on the list I gave you?” He already knew that answer—after she left, he’d noticed the paper still sitting on the table.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want any of them. I want you.”

  The words slammed into him with a fierce electric rush. In Chicago all those years ago, he’d heard her whisper those same words in his ear, then she’d kissed a trail down his throat, over his chest, until he hauled her up into his arms and off to bed.

  But the reasons why she’d said them then, and why she was now, were very, very different.

  “I’m not available,” he said.

  Were they talking about business? Or something more?

  “Stockton!”

  He pivoted. Grace, the hostess, was standing in the kitchen, waving at him from across the room. “What’s up?”

  “Larry called in sick again.” She made a little face, then ducked back into the kitchen to avoid the coming storm.

  Stockton cursed. Three times in one week. “That man better have a fatal disease,” he called to Grace, even though she was already gone. He turned back to Jenna. “I have to go.”

  “Wait!” Before he could walk away, Jenna lay a hand on his arm. The touch seared his skin, sent his hormones tumbling through his veins and rocketed his mind back again to the first and only time they’d made love.

  Images of Jenna’s naked body beneath his, her skin warm against his chest, his legs, flashed in his mind. He pushed the thoughts away. Thinking of the past would do him no good. Not now.

  Not ever.

  He glanced down at her delicate hand, firm on his arm. As if she realized what she’d done, Jenna jerked away. “I have to get into the kitchen,” he said.

  “What if…what if I helped?”

  “Helped what?”

  “Fill Larry’s shoes. Just for tonight.”

  He smirked. “You. Do Larry’s job.”

  “Sure. I mean, I waited tables in college for a couple months. It can’t be that much different from—”

  “Larry is my sous chef.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened, and she took a half-step back. “Oh, well…”

  “Exactly. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  Her hand latched on to his arm again. Why did something so simple still affect him? Half of him wanted to turn around and crush her to his chest, the other half wanted to fling off her hand and tell her not to open a Pandora’s Box she didn’t intend to shut again.

  He did neither.

  “I may not be the best sous chef in the world, but I’m sure I can be more of a help in the kitchen than not having a right hand man at all. And, I’ll throw in free party-planning advice for your anniversary event. Surely, you can’t turn down an offer like that.” She shot him a tempting grin.

  “And what, I’d owe you after that?” He shook his head, and tugged his arm out of her hand. “I don’t think so. I know you, Jenna. You make it sound like you’re here to help me out, but really, you’re just running your own agenda.”

  She winced, and he wanted to take the words back, but they were out there. The harsh truth, in broad daylight. “It’s just one dinner service, Stockton. Nothing more.”

  He was about to say no, and in fact had the syllable formed on his tongue, when he thought of the night ahead. One that would surely be insanely fast-paced, as had the night before.

  At least it was Thursday. It would undoubtedly be busy—the longer the week wore on, the busier the restaurant got, and with it being the holidays, people were in more often during the week. If Larry missed Friday, or Saturday, or worse, Sunday—New Year’s Eve—well, Stock
ton wasn’t going to think about that. Midweek was bad enough to be down an essential pair of hands.

  Last night, Stockton had run the kitchen single-handedly, overworking the two prep chefs and himself trying to keep the orders moving in a timely manner, but they’d done it and managed not to screw up any orders. Stockton had gone home exhausted and cranky, as had the rest of the overworked staff. A second night of the same didn’t sound appealing at all. Not to mention the reaction of the prep chefs when they found out they’d be doing double duty again. With the anniversary party so near, he couldn’t afford to lose any of his help. Nor did he have time to interview and hire someone else.

  “You can’t cook,” he said to Jenna.

  “I’m not as bad as you remember,” she said, and a part of him wondered again if they were talking about cooking or something else. “Let me help you, Stockton.”

  He could almost believe she was sincere, if he tried hard enough. But he knew Jenna Pearson—and knew she wasn’t making the offer out of the goodness of her heart. She wanted to butter him up to convince him to say yes to catering Eunice’s party. Or maybe something more.

  The kitchen door banged open, and Denny, one of the prep chefs, came storming into the front of the house. “Don’t tell me we’re shorthanded again tonight. I swear, I’m going to go to Larry’s house and drag him—”

  “We won’t be shorthanded,” Stockton said. The decision formed in his head. Whether he liked it or not, he had to take the deal on the table. He couldn’t afford another night like last night.

  “Larry showed up?”

  “No,” Stockton said, then turned to Jenna and gave her a short nod. “I hired some help. Temporary help.”

  Denny looked between Stockton and Jenna, taking in the ruffled blouse, the snug fit skirt, her high heels, none of which were appropriate for the hot, busy kitchen. He arched a brow in disbelief, then shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.” He hurried back into the kitchen, undoubtedly to tell the rest of the staff that the head chef had gone crazy.

  “So we have a deal?” Jenna asked.

  “First, you go home and change into something appropriate for the kitchen. Sneakers, a T-shirt. Put your hair back. Then come back here, ready to work.”

  “I didn’t bring anything like that with me.”

  “You won’t last five minutes in my kitchen in that,” he said, waving at her skirt and heels. “And you should know by now that you won’t last long in Riverbend looking like you walked off the pages of a fashion magazine.”

  She opened her mouth to argue. Shut it again. “I’ll buy something else to wear.”

  “Good. Be here at four.”

  “Do you promise you’ll let me talk to you about catering for Eunice’s birthday party?”

  “We’ll see how you work out,” he said, already wondering if he’d made the right decision. Jenna, in his kitchen, underfoot, all night? What had he been thinking? “I like my help to have staying power. And not run at the first sign of confrontation.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and he knew she realized he wasn’t talking about cooking. “Unlike other people I know,” she said, “you can depend on me, Stockton.” She gathered up her coat and purse, and twisted her scarf around her neck. “More than you think.”

  Betsy was waiting in Aunt Mabel’s kitchen. She looked like a Christmas tree gone awry, with her bright green sweater topped by embroidered silver snowflakes, and a matching pair of fleece pants. The only thing lacking from her festive attire was a smile. Dread filled Jenna’s chest.

  She took a deep breath. These were the people who had known her all her life, not ordinary clients. Whatever they had to say she could handle. For goodness’ sake, it was a birthday party, not a wedding for five hundred.

  “There’s been a…development.” Betsy took a sip from her mug and eyed Jenna over the porcelain rim. Outside, snow began to fall. Fluffy white flakes danced on the slight breeze, kissed the windows, then dropped away.

  “A development?” Jenna forced a smile to her face, and took the seat opposite Betsy.

  Aunt Mabel poured Jenna a cup of coffee and joined the other two. “Now, Betsy, don’t exaggerate,” she said. “This is hardly a problem.”

  Betsy pursed her lips. “I disagree. We need to rethink the entire event.”

  “Whatever the issue is, Miss Williams, I’m sure we can make the necessary changes and ensure the party goes off without a—”

  “What happened with the Marshall wedding?”

  Oh, God. Not that one, of all events. Jenna had thought coming back to Indiana meant she could leave her business past behind, that she could get a much-needed fresh start, one she could parlay into a comeback. How had Betsy found out about the Marshall wedding?

  It didn’t matter—she knew, as did most of New York. The debutante’s wedding that had turned into a disaster of epic proportions, and ended up starring on all the gossip pages for several days afterward. Jenna should have known better than to think she could handle such a huge event after all the others that had gone wrong. If she’d been smart, she would have handed the reins over to Livia. Stepped aside.

  “That event, uh, didn’t go as well as I expected,” Jenna said.

  “I heard that the flowers didn’t arrive, and the bride’s brother ended up running out to the local supermarket to get some for the corsages and things. Now, here in Indiana, maybe something as simple as store flowers might be fine. But from what I read, that wasn’t what the bride pictured for her wedding at that fancy-dancy hotel.”

  “There was an issue with the booking date for the florist. But I solved the problem.” By scrambling to find another florist she’d worked with several times before, calling in a huge favor and paying a premium to have arrangements rushed over at the last possible second.

  “Did the limo driver also get the date wrong? And the caterer?” Betsy asked. “The bride was quite upset about serving pizza to her guests. At least the pizza parlor threw in free soda so people had something to drink.”

  Jenna remembered the bride’s screaming fit—a justified reaction—and all directed at the party planner who had ruined the wedding by scheduling all the vendors for the following weekend. Jenna remembered thinking she had it all under control, that she was doing great. And then the day of the wedding arrived and proved she was as wrong as she could be.

  She’d thought the next job, and the one after that, and the one after that, would bring her back to her normal, organized, Type-A self. They hadn’t. If anything, the mistakes had gotten bigger, the stress blossoming larger in her chest.

  And now, all those mistakes had followed her to Riverbend. The one place she’d thought she could escape from everything.

  Jenna sighed, and sat back in her seat. Aunt Mabel reached out, and placed a consoling hand on her niece’s shoulder. “I made a few mistakes with that one,” she said, “but everything was rectified in the end.”

  “Is that something you do often? Make mistakes?” Betsy leaned in, and Jenna got the feeling she was a bug under a microscope, about to get squashed by the scientist’s lens. “Because I looked your business up on Google this morning,” Betsy went on, “and I have to say I was shocked, Jenna Pearson. Quite shocked. Your aunt told me you were a great party planner. The best, in fact.”

  She had been a great party planner once. And she could be again, she told herself. One success—that was all she needed. “I’ve had some problems in the past few months, some…issues I’ve been dealing with. But things are on the upswing.”

  “Betsy, everyone has off days,” Aunt Mabel said. “You need to be more understanding.”

  “We all have rough days, weeks, even months, Mabel,” Betsy said. “I myself have had some days that were less than sunny, but I never served my guests pizza instead of a good home-cooked meal.” She pursed her lips and looked ready to cancel the party at any second.

  Silence blanketed the table. Betsy was right. Jenna had let down her clients, the people who had trusted her. These were monu
mental events in their lives, and she had turned them into disasters.

  Maybe she had lost her touch. Maybe she shouldn’t be doing this job anymore. “You’re right, Miss Williams. In the past, I made several mistakes. But I’m back on my feet now, and prepared to do the best job I can with Eunice’s party.” She could do this, she knew she could. Especially here, in Riverbend where the expectations were less demanding, the people happy with a “plain and simple” affair, as Betsy had said. She could handle plain and simple.

  And then, after the party, be ready to return to New York, to the life she used to love, the job she used to be great at, and get back on top in no time.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Betsy said. “In fact, perhaps I better make backup plans just in case.”

  “You don’t need—”

  “I think I do. People say the apples don’t fall from the trees. I know the tree your family comes from, Jenna Pearson, and I think—”

  “Betsy!” Aunt Mabel interrupted. “That’s enough.”

  “Fine. But you have to know I love my sister,” Betsy said. “More than all the tea in China. And if she ends up eating pizza instead of Stockton’s lasagna, I’ll put you on toilet-cleaning duty at the bed and breakfast for the next fifty years.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE FIRST HOUR WAS the hardest. Even though both the prep cooks were already there and busy in the kitchen, Stockton’s radar attuned to one station. Jenna Pearson.

  Every move she made, he noted. Every time she brushed past him to reach for a spice or a utensil, he caught a whiff of her perfume. The same scent she’d worn years ago, a warm, heady perfume with notes of vanilla, cinnamon. His gaze traveled her frame more than once, and he found himself wondering if she’d feel the same in his arms, if she’d taste the same under his lips.

  Then he’d stop, get a grip and get back to work. There’d be no getting wrapped up with her, not again.